


Very Selfish Ghosts

by willowtreeforthesoul



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gore, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mild Gore, OOC, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, idk i need a nap so bad, more like descriptions of gore, questionable dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:20:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowtreeforthesoul/pseuds/willowtreeforthesoul
Summary: Still, the words dripping loving malice hide behind the question and both boys know what he’s really asking.Do you want to die together?Saihara pleads, begs and grovels at the feet of whatever unkind god is out there that Ouma will agree to follow him hand in hand to their beautiful deaths, and will just say Yes. Yes I do. Yes I do.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Very Selfish Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> ive had to rewrite this 3!!!!! times!!!!! and everytime it got worse so big rip!!!!
> 
> pls if anyone understands the title ily 
> 
> <3

_(no one quite knows where the laughter comes from as two broken monster howl harmonies into their last night.)_

If he could, he’d change it all completely.

He’d take a knife to his body right down to the bone, he’d peel apart the skin and reach inside to take every part of him out and leave it on the garage floor. He’d cut off both ears with no hesitation and he’d never need to hear it all ever again. No more desperate whimpers and loud wails or cries whenever some classmate struck him too hard. No voices dripping with pity as they tell _“You’re so_ _strong.”_ and _“You’ll get through this.”_ Ouma isn’t strong. He’s never tried to be, and he’s not naive enough to believe that he is. Strength is a useless weapon used by cowards who have too much to lose and a throbbing ego. And “getting through this” is an empty statement. Get through what? The bullying? The abuse? Then what, huh. He’ll get a bad job, probably get picked on by co workers and never even end up living a life better than decent. Or maybe he could gauge his eyes out with his own two shaky small hands. He could give them away, to a person not miserable to enjoy them. They could inspect those dull dead eyes with their own curious set, and in blindness, that would be the closest Kokichi Ouma would ever come to having someone understand him.

It’s a bitter shame. Yet he’s laughing. The strange noise crawls out of his throat and pries his mouth open until he’s wheezing, choking on the ugly humour of everything. Not enough concerned looks come from the disconnected golden eyes beside him as both boys inhale more smoke and whatever is even is that drink as the unforgiving stars peer down on them.

_“Do you want to sign up for danganronpa?”_

The disgusting words trip out of Saihara’s mouth before he even has time to think. That’s how all of his talking goes though, messy and gross, drooling over fiction as he blabbers on for goddamn hours over grotesque fake death. In another life, he imagines, he’s much smoother with his words, with a slightly shaky breathy voice where his words dance and flow and it just makes sense for once. He dreams disgustingly of carrying everyone's burdens, leading them through the trials until they rely on him completely. He’ll break all of their worthless legs and lift them in his merciless arms before crushing their damn skulls, teaching them the beauty of hope before absolutely destroying them because how dare they. How dare they have an easy life which they have nothing to deserve, with parents who love them and a life worth living. How dare they call him a psycho. Him! Who has gone through too much for any child to even begin to cope and they really think they have the right to judge him.

Still, the words dripping loving malice hide behind the question and both boys know what he’s really asking.

_Do you want to die together?_

Saihara pleads, begs and grovels at the feet of whatever unkind god is out there that Ouma will agree to follow him hand in hand to their beautiful deaths, and will just say _Yes. Yes I do. Yes I do._

Three little words to sign the contract and ascend beyond the useless scum who dare claim they have a reason to live. Yes i do, and they could make such an impact on the world through the bitter game they all adore so much. He’d murder someone. To prove how much better, how much more deserving he is he’d fucking end a life. Anybodies. It doesn’t matter who. Hell, it could Ouma. He’d drug him to the point of delusions before cutting a limb off, only a small one like a finger, and watch the scarlet liquid pool from it as he keeps it as a memory of his former lover. He’d make it oh so painful, needles to eye, drawing pins in the mouth and the millions of other gorgeous ways Saihara could love his friend to death.

_If Ouma would just say yes already. _

The beaten boy in question meets his eye and in the pale moonlight Saihara admire’s his bruised lover. Deep blue and purple dance on his cheek and left eye, while an ugly red scab sits at the corner of lip as the purplenette tilts in his head in a curious manner. A glint of an emotion he’d love to understand glows in Ouma’s eyes as his bloody mouth opens with a smirk as he speaks out the closest thing to Saihara’s fantasies as it could get-

“I’d love to.”

_(and so, once again, no one quite knows where the laughter comes from as two broken monsters howl harmonies into their last night.)_


End file.
